


Drabbles

by LSquared80



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various drabbles from prompts given by other Peggy/Ted fans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> This "drabble" is from a prompt for "Christmas."

His light to Los Angeles was delayed six hours before it was cancelled. Ted diligently phoned Nan after each delay crackled across the airport speakers, but he hasn’t called yet to say he’s heading to the office and won’t be coming home. She’ll only repeat herself. _This is why you don’t wait until Christmas Eve to fly home!_

The taxi driver helps Ted get his suitcases up to the door, under the awning where no snow has touched the ground. Ted pays his fare and folds a generous tip onto the man’s palm. “Merry Christmas to you, sir,” the driver says.

Ted stomps the snow from his boats and gets inside the lobby, leaving a trail of wet footprints as he carries his bags to the elevator. The ride up is faster than usual with no stops. He drags his suitcases out into the hallway, down to the doors. He fishes in his pocket for the keys and leaves his things at reception.

The lights strung on the Christmas tree in the main corridor are turned off. Every office door is decorated with holiday artwork – candy canes, poinsettias, stockings. Ted keeps his head down and seeks refuge in his office. He shrugs out of his coat and throws it over the back of a chair. He loosens the knot in his tie and drags one end out from under the stiff collar, discarding it on his desk. He pulls the hem of his shirt out from under the waistband of his pants and kicks off his boots, walking around in a pair of argyle socks as a tribute to the late Bertram Cooper.

Ted fixes a drink and stands in front of the window. He looks down at the street, at the sloppy tire tracks in the snow and the soft piles on parked cars. He knew no flights were getting out of JFK and he feels a stab of pain in his chest when he finally admits that he’s glad he can’t make it to Los Angeles. It will be sunny there, and warm enough to go outside without a coat. He wishes the boys were in the city with him and they could build a snowman and fit a Santa hat on its head. He wonders what the weather is like in Hawaii.

He opens the door and squints. The tree lights are turned on, casting a multi-colored glow on the floor. Ted staggers out of his office, his drink sloshing over the sides of the glass. He looks into each room and notices a soft glow coming from Peggy’s open door. He sighs and thinks _Of course_.

Ted’s feet pad lightly down the hall. He leans against the doorframe. Peggy’s back is to him. She’s standing at the window, hands on her hips. She’s wearing a short red dress and nylons and she steps out of her heels. He moves and it’s quiet enough that Peggy hears the ice in his glass.

She turns around, clasping a hand to her chest. Ted notices the streaks of tears shining on her cheeks before Peggy has time to turn back around and wipe her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ted says. “Actually, you scared me. The tree was turned off when I walked in.”

Peggy shrugs a shoulder up to her ear as she turns to face him. Her bottom lip is tucked under her teeth. Her chin quivers.

Ted walks to the bar cart and pours a drink for her, adding more to his. She won’t accept it from him so he sets it on the edge of her desk. In the last one-hundred and fifty days Peggy has gone from pretending like she couldn’t see him to offering a curt good morning. She has laughed at something he’s said five times. She has called him by name three times. He suspects there was one time Peggy couldn’t remember why she hated him.

She turns her back to him. He stands behind her. Ted can see her reflection in the window against the falling snow. He doesn’t presume she’s crying about him or that she wants to know why he’s in the office and not in Los Angeles. He makes a fist. He wants to drag his knuckles down the zipper that stretches from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. But he turns around, heading toward the door.

“Ted,” she calls out.

He thinks _four times_ and looks at her. “I saw bags when I came in,” she says.

He nods. “Those are mine. Flight got cancelled.”

In one-hundred and fifty days he hasn’t been alone in a room with her. He hasn’t touched her in longer than that. Ted’s palm sweats around the glass in his hand and he swallows against the lump in his throat.

The phone on her desk buzzes and the sound pierces through the quiet. Peggy sniffles and wipes her eyes before picking up the receiver. She turns sideways before speaking and Ted backs up to the hallway. He lingers long enough to see her pick up the glass from the edge of her desk and take a sip. He walks back to his office thinking it’s the first time in one-hundred and fifty days that Peggy let him fix her a drink.


End file.
